


A Brutal War of Attrition

by yettheywereintrepid



Category: The Mechanisms (Band), Ulysses Dies at Dawn - The Mechanisms (Album)
Genre: Child Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mechanisms Fantasy AU, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, hoo boy there's some unethical magic, more to be added as the work continues, no beta reader we post at midnight like war criminals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yettheywereintrepid/pseuds/yettheywereintrepid
Summary: A collection of stories surrounding the Siege of Ilium in a Mechanisms fantasy AU. They aren't in chronological order, or connected chapter to chapter.In between events I'll be including more details surrounding the world and magic- as of the first chapter it's slightly nonsensical.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. By Any Means Necessary

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a sequel of sorts to the official fiction In the Madness of War, surrounding Ulysses' entry into the camp, and the innovation they bring with them.

In the end, Ulysses has to be escorted to the camp in chains, to ensure they don't attempt to flee. It's an inauspicious beginning in Agamemnon's mind, but Zeus is still confident, and he must trust his judgement. Sure enough, when the leaders of the Achaeans are  _ finally _ summoned to their meeting a few hours later, Ulysses has a few more bruises, and a rather nasty black eye, but they are standing alone and ready to talk. Each of them is handed a briefing document, though Agamemnon notes with an amused sense of superiority that he and Nestor are the only two that read the thing- he can't make hide nor hair of it, himself, and the grizzled statesman's continuously placid expression doesn't betray whether she understands any more. The rest of them are divided; the newly promoted leaders, damned fools, spend their time looking anywhere but Ulysses (it’s their eyes, he thinks. He’s willing to admit that the fucker has bloody terrifying eyes), while those that have been there since the beginning, through ten long years of fruitless siege and boredom fidget, throwing idle blasts of flame between two hands, or worrying fabric between rough fingers. Menelaus, as always, paces. Achilles hasn’t attended a meeting in person since Patroclus died, but he is listening all the same. The others are behaving as expected, all except Diomedes. Normally brash and somewhat grating to have in talks, now he is sat silently, studying Ulysses. Looking them in the eye. And he’s smiling. Agamemnon knows that smile, hard not to after a decade sharing space- it’s the same smile Diomedes wore when Athena introduced them to a new style of crossbow bolt, which pierced any armour and made the wounded’s blood run black. It’s the smile of a child handed a new toy. Or a soldier handed a new weapon. 

Ulysses, to their credit, does not bow under the weight of that smile, nor the heady atmosphere of power weighing down the room. Instead, they gesture to Palamedes- he had led them into the room in the first place, and had been daydreaming, so when he notices he is being requested he jumps, and hurries to stand next to Ulysses, glancing over at them every few seconds. The whole bloody camp knows the drill now; always the same with these scholarly types- Agamemnon spots Menelaus stifling a pre-emptive yawn, and none-too-subtly kicks him under the table, glaring. 

They’re wrong, as it turns out. They don’t know the drill. 

Instead, a knife glints in the firelight, and in an instant Palamedes is collapsed on the ground, while the gem Ulysses holds pulses with a sudden brightness. There is a moment of stunned silence. What the fuck are they supposed to say? And who should be the one to say it? Agamemnon realises with a start that he’s the one in charge- he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be setting the tone, but his words have fled him, and Zeus, smug bastard, has chosen this moment to go silent, even though he can feel him watching, and-

He chokes out the first words that come to mind: “He didn’t say the words”

Ulysses turns to face him, solemn and smug at the same time.

“No, he didn’t”

Agamemnon falls back into silence, mind racing. This was supposed to be a new weapon, the thing to win them the war- how? How was the loss of a few magic fucking words supposed to break a stalemate that fire and  _ bloody  _ brimstone had failed to budge? Did they send the revolutionary intended for the Acheron here by mistake, or is there something he doesn’t get here?

He’s answered by the screech of Diomedes pushing his chair back. He lopes over to the front of the room, neatly hops over Palamedes, cooling on the floor, and whacks Ulysses between the shoulder blades (they don’t even flinch. Fucker).

“Well then-” Diomedes says casually, “-think we’ve found our way to win this, huh?”

Ulysses smirks, and it’s like a window smashed in midwinter, cold and cutting. 


	2. Interlude: Pt. 1

_"-after the civil wars, the population of Achaea had fallen by approximately 65% percent, due to the siphoning of life force for magic. It was therefore determined by various neutral actors that the current method of energy generation was insufficient and unsustainable in regards to population growth. Prometheus, sick of the endless bureaucracy of politics, took matters into their own hands. They placed the restriction of consent to life force on all magic-users from that point onwards, using their own life to complete the process. To the this day, they are variously revered and despised by most arcane groups- it is, surveys have shown, almost impossible to find a neutral stance on them, and the split is relatively even, with 52% of respondents "strongly disagreeing" with their actions- this has increased in recent years, due to a new focus on-"_

-An Introduction to Achaean History, D.B

_"Come to the Acheron! Your fellow citizens need you!"_

-An advertisement found in Olympus


	3. Iphigenia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of Iphigenia's story.

_ Dear Wife _

_ This whole bloody mess is taking longer than expected. I'm sorry to have missed Orestes' first day, but we believe we're making progress- no details, of course, I was 'reminded of the confidentiality' of such things since our last letter.  _

_ There is one matter I should like to discuss though. Artemis is here helping us with the barrier, and when I was thinking of Orestes these last days, I remembered Genie and her fascination, and well, long story short, Artemis said she'd quite like to meet her, see if she'd be a good fit for the huntresses. Perhaps she could come to visit soon?  _

_ I love you dearly, and hope to be allowed to see the children and you again swiftly when this blasted war finally ends. _

_ Best wishes, _

_ Your husband _

\-----

_ Agamemnon _

_ No mistake, this is important. She'd understand.  _

_ Menelaus _

\-----

Iphigenia scans the letter once more, her eyes shining. For a moment, she looks like the child that used to spend hours pouring over books, or carefully studying her father's reports. A bright child, the tutors had said. Charming too, her father had agreed. The way Agamemnon had included her in tactical meetings spoke for itself. A moment of soft-edged memories, and then Iphigenia glances up, once again the sharp-faced girl with eyes full of possibility. 

"It's true, mother? He wants me to see her?"

Clytemnestra smiles indulgently from the doorway. "If he didn't mean it, he wouldn't have said it, dear. Of course-" she holds out a hand to stay her daughter's next words, "-you don't have to. The front is a rough place at the best of times, not going wouldn't upset your chances at a later consideration, I don't think-"

Before she has even finished speaking, Iphigenia is up and out of her seat, rooting around in her desk for paper, and a nib not entirely ruined with ink. She doesn't look up when she speaks. 

"Of course I will go! It's been too long since I saw father last anyway"

She lets out a little 'aha!' as she grasps a clean pen, and Clytemnestra decides to leave her to construct a response. She turns from the room, only to come face to face with Electra, standing in her shadow. It isn't just the darkness shrouding aer expression, though. 

"Don't like it"

Clytemnestra kneels down to look Electra in the eye.

"There's nothing to worry about. What have I told you about predicting doom for others, love?"

Electra rolls aer eyes, but replies, "Makes the bad things happen"

"Exactly. Now, go and find your sister, will you? I never have any luck with drawing her out" 

As Electra runs off, calling for Chrysothemis all the while, Clytemnestra allows herself a sigh, before dusting off her knees and continuing on with her day. Such a maudlin child- there is too much of Agamemnon in aer, gods know he gets the same way at times. But time would heal that, or at least straighten it into something useful. It always does. 

\-----

_ Dearest Father, _

_ I hope things are All well for you in camp, and that you aren't being too horribly pressed by the rebels. I am sure zeus is pleased with your dedication to His cause. I am also sorry for the  late delayed reply, the Field is apparently very busy at the moment.  _

_ Regarding your ~~ e  ~~ invitation to visit and to meet the hunter Artemis, I would be  ~~overjoyed delighted~~ honoured to. Please tell her I will make all haste to Ilium! _

_ With warmest hugs and affection, _

_ Your dutiful daughter Iphigenia _

\-----

_ Genie _

_ Unfortunately, you may have to postpone your visit to a later date, as Artemis has been called away on business. Please do not come to the front, I am af _

\-----

From inside the tent emanates the sound of a roaring blaze, just for a moment. Half the generals- gathered outside- turn away, all but whistling, while the others lean in, to see if they can hear more. Menelaus shoves that lot out of the way and ducks inside, Nestor following close behind him. Agamemnon is hunched over his desk, glaring at the ashes scattered across it as though they personally wronged him. No words of comfort for his brother, Menelaus instead throws a coin at his head, hard. 

"Stop fucking moping. No space for backing out of this one. Has to be done”

Agamemnon says nothing, just grits his teeth and sets his shoulders. Menelaus rolls his eyes in response, giving Nestor a meaningful look (the meaning, of course, being ‘sentimental prat’). The more diplomatic of the two, Nestor elects for a hand on the shoulder- not comforting, though, gods know nothing about Nestor is comforting, hard iron wrapped in a honey glaze. Her voice is measured, and carefully calculated to show age and wisdom, but not frailty. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Officer. But I cannot stress the importance of this mission. Think of all who have already lost to those merciless rebels-”, Here, she takes a pause to spit on the ground “-think of all who will lose, if you do not sacrifice this one thing. I have seen much more than you, Agamemnon, and many of those things have disgusted me, or the great people I walked alongside. But it is important that we, the leaders, and the superior, sacrifice, instead of asking those in our care to do so in our stead. This is a fundamental duty of your rule, as I know you understand, and one I hope you have already instilled in any child you expected to inherit. She will know her duty in this, if she is all you say she is.”

Looking rather pleased with herself, Nestor steps back, and the room holds its collective breath, waiting for Agamemnon to speak. They don’t have to wait long, as it turns out- the general’s posture slumps, defeated, and he lets out a long, heavy breath through his hands. 

“...My wife will never forgive me for this. Gods know I won’t either. But it will be as you say”

If it’s possible for Nestor to look more smug, she achieves it. She thumps her spear on the ground once, twice- and the camp erupts into chaos, not because of anything within the tent, but because there’s the heavy weight of magic in the air, and a loud whirring drawing towards the tent. Then, a curly head appears through the curtain of the tent, notices the other generals, gasps, disappears again, and a tall, gangly looking girl enters properly, looking nervous and slightly chastened. Agamemnon stands to greet her, and even though to curious onlookers his face may seem a picture of paternal affection, Menelaus knows his brother far too well for such tricks to fool him. The man looks as though he’s about to cry. He leans down slightly to kiss his daughter’s forehead, and then takes her hands in his, saying some drivel about preliminary contracts and public signings, and Iphigenia gives a gap toothed grin. Two of the younger generals- Clonius and Demophon, he thinks- start to look distinctly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but they follow dutifully enough as Agamemnon and Iphigenia step outside, to where a small table has been set up on the dais. Where they sacrifice, Menelaus thinks, grimly. 

\-----

_ Dearest Clytemnestra _

_ Please, my love. I am sorry to have kept you in the dark, but you must understand, I could not have shared this with you. You know I loved Iphigenia as you do, and you know if there had been any other way I would never have even thought to use her to test such a thing. I cannot express my grief at her death.  I know She would understand. And she is a martyr now. She will be worshipped for her sacrifice. It’s not much, but that must mean something.  _

_ Please, reply to this letter, or come to see me, or let me come to see you. A simple word to know how you are. I beg it of you.  _

_ Your husband and partner in your sorrow,  _

_ Agamemnon.  _

\-----

_ Mother, _

_ Well. It was a disgusting affair, in all. The child (and I’ll call her child because she was one, I don’t know what we all expected, but it was at least an adult) didn’t even know what was going on. It was like watching someone walk off a cliff in the morning fog, except her father was leading her by the hand the whole time, and promising it was all perfectly safe! I don’t think I can serve under him for much longer, not after this. Either way, it didn’t work. Zeus’ master plan still didn’t bring the barrier down, looks like we’ll need even more life force. I don’t know which army he’s going to order to die to get it all, but perhaps you could put in a good word for me, ensure it’s not ours. Patroclus sends their good wishes, I’ll write whenever Agamemnon decides to sacrifice another one of his relatives to The Cause. Perhaps it shall be his wife next, despite all the loving words he speaks of her.  _

_ Achilles.  _


End file.
